


ora dello sputino

by werewolfkeeper



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: (in her own way at least), Caretaking, Family Dynamics, Gen, Gift Fic, Implied Relationships, Snacks & Snack Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfkeeper/pseuds/werewolfkeeper
Summary: "Do you still -"  Wince.  It's weird for him, too, but he doesn't know why and can't figure out how to say it, especially not to her.  So, just a correction: "Did you guys keep up that old coffee-in-the-morning routine?"Her eyes narrow, go unreadable again.  "Why?  Do you miss reaping the benefits of Papa's leftovers?"Written for AnnoyedAndLockedOut on Tumblr for the #ghostspringgiftexchange2020!
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	ora dello sputino

**APRIL 30, 1980**

Every morning between 8:55 and 8:59, Sister Imperator appears in the hallway outside the door to Papa's chambers. She brings with her a serving tray fitted with an oversized mug that's always steaming and a plate, typically bearing a pastry or (very) small stack of pancakes. Some days, she balances it all in one hand so that her other is free to fuss with the way her hair lays or smooth her skirt over her hips. Other days, she holds the tray by the handles and seems angry, in a rush to get the task done. She knocks, usually twice, but always lets herself in. Hurried-looking or not, she's never in there for less than a half-hour. No matter what.

Copia could almost set his watch by it, if he was allowed to wear one.

It's 8:54 and he is posted on the other end of the hall where he is mostly certain she can't see him (even though she can see everything).

"What...are you doing?"

Copia jumps - he always jumps - but it's a short, quick movement before he catches himself and freezes. The voice comes from above him and it's just a voice, not a shove or a punch. Slowly, like he expects to be the first victim in a horror flick, he turns to look up at the older boy hovering over his shoulder. 

One glares down the end of his nose. At least he won't take a swing, like Two and Three, but if looks could kill, _oof_. Copia would be long since dead and buried and not here to fumble around explaining himself. "It's -" _not what it looks like_ , is his gut-reaction, but...what could it possibly look like? Other than _sneakiness_ , which One and the others have already pegged him for, but before he can try to suss this out -

He can tell by the click of Sister Imperator's heels what to expect and it's confirmed when she rounds the corner. Today is an angry day. The treat on the plate looks like some kind of loaf.

"Oh." One's voice gets quieter and he tucks a little further behind Copia. "She still does this?"

"Every day," Copia says, whether or not the question was reflexive. "She's pissed."

One clicks his tongue. "I've seen her worse."

In general, Copia knows he's seen worse, too, but not in conjunction to whatever this daily ritual is with Papa. "How long has it been happening?"

"Since before _you_ were born," says One, full of venom over the thought.

It's okay, though, Copia's heard him use the same tone regarding Two and Three. And however the answer was supposed to subjugate him, the effect is lost. It feels like another puzzle piece locking into place, even if he still only has a few other pieces shoved together. He observes: "She'll be in there for a while." In case One has other places to be that aren't here, skulking over his shoulder.

"She always is." One doesn't move.

"Do you think -"

"She has to brief him," One continues over Copia - probably on purpose. "On the day. It's part of her job."

Oh. That part actually makes more sense than whatever concoction is half-brewed in Copia's head. Still, it doesn't cover everything. "She - ?"

"Part of the job," One is quick to cover. Does he know something they shouldn't or is he just tired of entertaining Copia's train of thought? Copia can hazard that guess. "The Sisters of Sin, they're servants. It's what they do. Serve." At least there's no degradation to it. It _is_ just a fact; the rest of the Clergy are servants, too, of course, to the Dark Lord, but there's a hierarchy to be followed. ...Right?

"But not us," Copia muses, thinking with his empty stomach instead of his brain. He usually has to count himself lucky if there's a piece of plain toast left by the time it's their turn to eat.

"Scemo," One tsks. He doesn't yell, he never yells like his little brothers, but he never has to. "Not _you_."

 _Or you_ , Copia bites down on his tongue to hold back this time. The only time he's seen One snacking on something out of the ordinary was when one of the novitiates slipped him a wink and a few extra gingersnaps, last Antichristmas - and Three had night terrors for a week after getting caught telling everyone that One had a paramour.

Instead, he blurts out, "If I was Papa." A kinder audience would take this as an understanding, as acknowledgement that it follows, that the head of the Sisters of Sin's service is exclusive to the antipope. Copia is in no such company.

One's voice is ice cold, leveled in Copia's ear. "Over our dead bodies."

It seems like only a moment that he drops his attention to consider scampering away. When he turns, One is looking past him, smirking. Is that worse? That's worse.

"And here comes yours," he says, before making good his escape.

Copia's brow furrows. Here comes his what? His - _oh_. His dead body.

Sister Imperator looms over him, arms only not folded because she has to balance the tray on one hip. "Copia." _Her_ voice is (always) hard and sharp, but...warm, by comparison to One's.

He knits his fingers together in a repetitive motion, but he looks her in the eyes so she won't have to to ask him to. "Sister."

She doesn't ask him what he's doing, just glares down at his wringing hands. "Here." She thrusts the plate at him. "Papa did not finish his pumpkin bread. Would you like the rest?"

Copia nods. "Thank you, Sister."

While he picks at the slice, wondering how fortune favoured him so that he was spared from _two_ near death experiences, he feels Sister's hand brush over his hair. It always surprises him how practiced her gentleness is.

"Come along," she says, replacing the ever-fleeting suggestion of tenderness with a soft swat. "On to the next."

* * *

**APRIL 30, 2018**

_Noon by the clock_ , Copia finds himself thinking. The midday sun breaks through the stained glass and hits the lid of the glass coffin just so that he's staring down at his own reflection in it.

"And so still by the dock."

His shoulders twitch, hunch inward instinctively, but Sister Imperator appears in his periphery and her look is pointed. He squares up again and realizes that she is blocking the light, putting One's preserved body right back where it belongs.

Was he -? But Imperator's eyes are also on the coffin. Something invisible tugs at the corners of her lips.

"'What's she got to grin?'" the old woman hums. She passes Copia a small helping of appetizers. "They'll be plexiglass for the tour, of course. Something with more...staying power, for the road." She knocks on the glass. "Speaking of, I have errands to attend to, but when I return, let's talk. Papa Nihil has some...thoughts about that instrumental piece that I would like to discuss indulging. With your input, of course."

"My - ?"

"Of course," Sister says again, like it should be obvious even though it clearly is not. "It's your band now, too."

She leaves and Copia bites through the bruschetta, scattering a few crumbs over the glass that separates him from One's corpse.

"Huh," he utters.

* * *

**APRIL 30, 2020**

It's close to midnight and Copia's eyes are going to bleed if he has to watch any more footage of his own performance. There should be a sell-by date on this documentary, but no one seems to be able to tell him when that will be. They just keep sending more reels for approval.

It's not his....well, it IS his job, but it should be Sister's. _That's_ her job, as far as he's concerned, and he wouldn't be able to do his own without it. Without her final say.

But since the end - the final end - of the tour, she hasn't had much to say about anything.

Which is why he feels extra the fool when she catches him pacing - well, triking - back and forth outside of Papa Nihil's office to clear his head.

She takes her foot off the front wheel. "Copia."

"Sister." He stands, but stumbles trying to get up and kick the tricycle behind him in the same fell swoop. This time, he can't look her in the face.

She doesn't ask him to, but instead tips his chin up herself. "You haven't eaten." It's not a question.

He thinks it's generous to tell her that he's not hungry rather than let her know he doesn't want to bother her. ...Well, doesn't want to _add_ to her bothers, anyway.

"Doubtful," Imperator sniffs. "I'll have one of our Sisters fix you something and bring it to your room. You'll have your pick, of course. They swarm like insects, I swear to Satan. I just don't have the heart -" She casts him a quick wink of her lashes, letting him know that she knows the joke could just end there. "- To spoil their fantasies with news of your preference." The mirth is gone from her expression, though, when she adds, "The way rumours fly around here, you'd think they'd already know." She slips her arm through the crook of his elbow as they walk. "Everyone sees what they want to, don't they?"

 _No_ , Copia wishes he could tell her. Because there's something he's been trying to see his whole life and she has always managed to keep it in enough shadow that he's never seen the whole picture. But he can't bother her with that, either. So in its place, he offers, "The Ghouls, they're teaching me about sharing. If you send a Sister -" He shrugs. "Or two - my way, I will show them a good time."

Sister Imperator does not smile - does she ever? - but her eyes do something that Copia can't interpret, other than as a flash. Of humour? Sadness? Fury? Disappointment?

"I suppose the appetite does traditionally come with the position," is all she says to that end, patting his arm.

"Thank Lucifer for the room service, then," Copia tries.

Sister exhales sharply through her nose. An exasperated sigh or a stifled laugh? Who is he kidding, the only time Copia's ever seen her laugh - or thought that's what he saw - was in the mornings, leaving - 

Papa's room.

Her fingers that aren't dug into his robe sleeves trail against the locked door as they pass it. She doesn't mention it.

And Copia doesn't mean to draw attention to it when he asks, "Do you still -" Wince. It's weird for him, too, but he doesn't know why and can't figure out how to say it, especially not to her. So, just a correction: "Did you guys keep up that old coffee-in-the-morning routine?"

Her eyes narrow, go unreadable again. "Why? Do you miss reaping the benefits of Papa's leftovers?"

Copia doesn't realize he's wringing his hands until she bops him for it. This is not really going how he meant for it to. The antipapacy, for that matter...

"I can make the arrangements if that's something you'd like," Sister offers. "As I said, plenty of Sisters. Just buzzing. Like flies."

They take a few steps past the threshold of Copia's quarters. "Not you, though?" he asks, honestly not surprised she hasn't volunteered herself. _Her job, my ass_.

"Copia, your - Nihil and I, that wasn't...well." The old woman sighs. "If that's what interests you, I think you ought to make your own arrangements with one of your Ghouls." She lets off his arm and wags a finger in his face. "But not B̷̨̪̦̥͉͍̯͇̱̣̠̖̄̓̈̃̏ͅͅͅę̴͇̬̖̝̞̐̈̇́̇̚l̶̨̫̩̹̰̖̩̻̹̱͑̀̑͋͆̇̌̐̋͊͜͠ͅe̸̢͔̲͔̫̮̊͊̓̈́̄͊̀̈̓̈̔̕ͅt̴̙̜̽̉́̓̆̾̓̓́̏̐̎͂̉ḩ̵̢̡̻̟̂͗͋̔͝͝. I don't want that little gremlin in my kitchen."

Oh. _Oh_. A puzzle piece. A well-cast shadow. A light.

"If I was Papa," he remembers. It meant something different at the time, but he was still right.

Sister Imperator stops at the door, grips the frame tight enough that Copia imagines it creaking. And she reminds him: "You are." She nods to someone in the hallway who he can't see. "Goodnight, dear. Enjoy your meal."


End file.
